


White and Blue

by Skyriazeth



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hanahaki AU, I guess? It's kinda bitter sweet, M/M, Might do more with it in the future
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2018-07-25
Packaged: 2019-06-16 01:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15425730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyriazeth/pseuds/Skyriazeth
Summary: Maxwell vanishes, so it's up to Wilson to look for him, again.





	White and Blue

Darkness surrounded the apprehensive scientist, the torch in his hand his only light source. Everything else was swallowed in inky blackness, hidden from his sight except for the trail of white petals that no doubt led to Maxwell. Wilson could already see shadows lurking at the edges of his vision, the cold biting into his exposed skin, yet his footsteps stayed a constant pace as he followed the remains of withered lilies on the ground.   
  
Unpleasant thoughts filled his mind, the eerie silence feeding his fears that started to materialize in the form of blue petals, Wilson desperately gasping for air between coughs. His condition was only getting worse with every passing moment, but he won’t allow it to deter him from finding that idiot.

With each step he made, his heartbeat seemed to quicken, the thumping against his chest reaching a crescendo when what little light he had left illuminated the silhouette of a lean figure that was bound to that  _wretched_ shadow throne. Wilson’s breath was caught in his throat, the grip on his torch beginning to falter. Waves of guilt washed over him, reminding him of all the little things he could’ve done to prevent this, and how he did none of them, simply leaving Maxwell to his own devices when something was  _clearly_ wrong.   
  
And now, because of him, Maxwell was once again bound to the throne, thorny vines piercing his skin and holding him securely in place. Lilies wove gracefully through his exposed ribs, the white flowers a stark contrast against the scarlet that ebbed from the cuts that decorated his frail being. The same, defeated look when Wilson had first found him here was etched onto his face, somehow appearing even more hopeless than before, blood tainting the corners of what used to be a smug grin.    
  


“Max… Maxwell?” Wilson’s voice was small, so easily carried by the wind. Hesitantly, he took a step forward, an urge to reach out to Maxwell, to call his name—to tell him everything will be fine, and he’ll get him out of here. But the words never seem to form, unspoken promises only for Wilson to hear.   
  
The other man lifted his head weakly when he heard the quiet whisper of his name, eyes glazed and unfocused as he stared blankly at Wilson. The scientist felt a pang of hurt from the lack of response, mixed with the shock that has yet to subside from seeing him in such a state. He had grown so accustomed to Maxwell’s snarky replies to everything he said, and for his quiet plea to be met with deafening silence was something that shook Wilson to his very core.

Before he could try again, a coughing fit wracked Maxwell’s body, the magician spluttering white petals that carried a hint of red, joining the rest that were scattered at the foot of the throne. Blood streamed from his lips and dripped onto the lilies that bloomed on his body as his face twisted in pain, the sound of strangled breathing echoing through the void.   
  
“ H-Huh. Higsburry? What- what a surprise. What might you be doing here? ” His usual smirk was there,  _of course_  it was, even if his façade was slowly slipping from his fingers and the world around him was falling apart. Maxwell would rather lie than appear to be vulnerable and weak—his hubris had always been his downfall when it came to survival after all.

It took a moment for the words to sink into Wilson one by one, and without thinking twice, he stormed right in front of the Nightmare throne, forcefully grabbing the hem of Maxwell’s coat and pulling his face only mere inches apart from his own.   
  
“What am  _I_ doing here? What are  _you_  doing here should be the question! I can’t believe you just—just—ran off like that!” Wilson’s sudden confidence came from the bubbling anger that had been building for days, a mesh of stress, anxiety and worry manifesting into one single emotion he rarely displayed. He had gone through hell all over again for Maxwell, spending restless nights needlessly worrying about him, and for what?   
  
A bitter chuckle escaped from Maxwell lips, temporarily stunning Wilson from his rage.   
  
“Really, pal? Did you think I have a choice?” Maxwell’s voice hitched in his throat, the corner of his mouth dropping to a grimace when he spoke again, “I never had one.”

Wilson promptly moved away when the magician starting hacking violently, flower petals following suit with each cough.

The earlier frustration towards Maxwell seemed to dissipate almost instantly, replaced with concern as his small hand trailed lightly towards the garden of lilies that adorned his chest. Wilson looked up at the magician, and he could see his eyes flicker briefly with hope before it vanished.   
  
“I- You know, don’t you?”  A weak smile was the only thing Maxwell could afford, voice barely above a whisper as if any louder would seal him to this terrible fate forever. Wilson felt himself being overwhelmed by a flurry of emotions, uncertainty prodding him at the back of his mind. The countless hours of research had led him to all but one conclusion, and if it was really what he thought then—

There was no cure for the both of them.

But it didn’t matter to Wilson when he nodded his head in understanding at Maxwell, giving him a kind and sympathetic look in hopes to reassure him of the  promises he made.  
  
“Well pal, I guess-“Maxwell was cut off before he could continue, enveloped by a comforting hug that neither wish would ever end.

Warmth fluttered in Wilson’s chest, his arms wrapped tightly around Maxwell’s body, and at that moment, he realized that no matter what happened, he couldn’t lose Maxwell again. Not when he’s gotten so far and so close. Wilson was not going to allow that to happen.  
  
He was going to fix this, one way or another. He was ready to risk it all to fulfill those silent promises that drifted in the wind between them, unspoken, yet somehow understood by the both of them without the need of words and phrases.   
  
A lone, blue petal fell gently among the reds and whites, and for the first time, comfortable silence fell across the constant as the breeze swept them into the fading darkness. 

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this as a gift for a friend's birthday! They showed me a very heartbreaking drawing of Hanahaki Maxwell on the throne and I just... couldn't... resist. 
> 
> And also of course I needed to add to the Maxwil content pile.


End file.
